Harry Potter and the Ravenclaw Vandal
by Ember Nickel
Summary: [Book 7 Spoilers] In the aftermath of the war against Voldemort, the same rules apply: nobody goes anywhere in the Ministry hierarchy without NEWTS. So for survivors of the war, this means only one thing: going back to school.
1. Bludger Banter

_Dedicated to my mom, for her support in drafting these ideas._

Chapter One

Bludger Banter

The sole occupant of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, lay lazily in the drawing room, enjoying the feeling of having nothing to do. His light black robes kept him as cool as could be expected: it was a pleasantly warm summer, in contrast from the depressingly cool seasons of prior years, when hope and life had been drained.

Eventually rising and assuming responsibility, he entered the kitchen and peeked inside the oven. A small tray of brownies was still baking. Satisfied, he strode over to the wireless and spun the dials purposefully until a light polka filled the room. With the house resonating to the boisterous chords in three-four time, he rummaged around in a seemingly infinite drawer until encountering a needle so thin as to be barely substantial, but endowed with a power that transcended the metal.

Tool in hand, he wandered over to a large tapestry and pushed the needle through a hole. A single blasted thread leapt through the eye of the needle and tied itself. Nimbly, he guided the needle in the path of a capital A. It was eager to begin the next letter, but a knock at the door intervened.

Weaving the needle back through the hole, he stood and approached the front door. He made an impressively serious figure: from his appearance alone, one might reckon it comical. But he was a respected member of his community.

He simply happened to be an elf.

Kreacher opened the door and bowed slightly. "Good evening, Master Potter."

"Just "Harry" is fine," said the addressee wearily, stepping in.

"Apologies, Master Harry. Dessert is nearly finished."

Harry closed the door and spoke tersely. "I just ate." Collapsing on the couch, he reminisced. "There was a _lot_ of food. A big turnout. You know she'd been missing for over a year? And there was still no body. But they had to schedule this memorial service around the other fifty-it's the same people who go to all of them."

Kreacher, aware of Harry's moods, went to check on the oven.

But Harry leapt up after him, aware as if for the first time of the surrounding music. "Oi! What's with the polka?"

"Kreacher knows that Master Harry is not partial to this music, so Kreacher plays it when you is not here." He changed the frequency.

"It has been confirmed that Puddlemere United Keeper Loren Dimond has used performance-enhancing spells and will be banned for a year."

Lee Jordan's commentary calmed Harry, who sat up and watched Kreacher continue repairing the venerable family tree. The house-elf had had more urgent tasks to do in the house for the last several weeks, having only recently returned from Hogwarts School. Despite his official liberation, he still enjoyed working there and in Grimmauld Place-and found his habit of addressing employers as "Master" particularly hard to break.

"…and we urge all _Bludger Banter_ listeners to contribute to the capital fund for rebuilding Hogwarts School. Significant curse damage still lingers in the infrastructure as special correspondents have attested. But for only one Galleon a month you can help with the process. For five Galleons a month, you'll get a copy of "Quidditch through the Ages", and for ten you can have it signed. Thirty Galleons a month, and we'll send you a free copy of "Hogwarts, a History". Send your owl to…"

"We is needing more thread, Master Harry." Kreacher tied off a final _s_. "The tapestry is not having room for Missus Nymphadora."

Harry paced over, impressed at how much the tapestry had grown. Even with the deaths of the last Blacks (Sirius had already been restored at the bottom), the entangled morass of pureblood wizardry continued to expand. "At the rate you're adding people to this thing, Kreacher, half the wizarding world will be on my Christmas."

Kreacher turned abruptly. "Should I stop?"

"No. Yes. I mean-" Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. "It's great that you understand that not just purebloods deserve to be on here. But we don't really _need_ this kind of thing, do we? I mean, that's exactly what the old Ministry was trying to do-chart everyone's genealogy."

"But there is a new ministry now, yes?" After a short interim, Kingsley Shacklebolt had been overwhelmingly supported for Minister of Magic.

"Yeah…" Harry said wistfully.

Kreacher ducked into the kitchen. "Would Master Harry like some brownies?"

""Master Harry" would like to be just Harry. Not the hero of wizardkind today, not someone that the Ministry can showcase for no reason, not someone whose only purpose is to visit his friends' funerals." He looked at his watch. "I'm seventeen, and in a couple of hours I'll be eighteen. I need a job."

"Is you not working at the Ministry?"

"I is _not_ working at the Ministry," Harry mimicked. "I don't have the _credentials _of my coworkers-all I've done is kill Voldemort. So I can't officially be an Auror. I forget what my official title is-something like "Head Exterminator of Rogue Operatives". Or maybe "Eliminator"."

Kreacher set the warm pan on the counter and turned off the oven. "The brownies is ready, Master."

Harry trudged in and took the first piece Kreacher cut. He ate mechanically, forcing an expression of contentment upon his face.

But when he went up to bed that night, a Snitch fluttering around his room, he slept soundly and without dreams. It was as much as he could ask for, and it made so much worth it. 


	2. Educational Irregularities

Chapter Two

Educational Irregularities

The shades were pulled down and the room was still dark when Harry woke up. After putting on his glasses, he opened the window and stared into the dawn.

He looked for a long time before realizing what he was expecting: owls. For his last seven birthdays, he had gotten some sort of communication from the magical world, or had celebrated with other wizards, or had been imprisoned in his bedroom for a crime he did not commit…All right, so perhaps not _all _of the last seven.

Nevertheless, it had been seven years since he had acquired Hedwig, his own owl. Since her death over a year earlier, her absence had been overshadowed by his assignment. But without that to consume him, lacking her made lacking correspondence visible.

He trouped downstairs to find Kreacher bustling about in the kitchen. "I is cooking your birthday breakfast, Master Harry: no peeking!" He waved a disapproving finger at Harry, who obligingly turned away.

"You really don't need to call me-" Harry broke off at what seemed to be a faint fluttering of wings, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Hiding disappointment, he headed back upstairs.

By the time he'd changed out of pajamas and gotten ready for the day, Kreacher's waffles were finished. As Harry sat down to slice his first one, he noticed an envelope on the table. Carefully, knowing he was more excited than he should have been, he asked Kreacher, "Is this for me?"

"Yes. Kreacher is not getting mail."

"Yeah, I suppose. Aren't writing to a secret admirer, are you?"

"No."

Harry noted the familiarity of the envelope and carefully broke the Hogwarts seal on the back. Wondering why his alma mater would be writing to him, he took out the first sheet of paper.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Due to irregularities in your educational schedule, you are invited to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for a seventh year of schooling. You would be placed with students of a roughly similar level of education._

_Please let us know if you will be returning._

_Sincerely,_

Filius Flitwick

_Deputy Headmaster_

At the bottom of the page, Flitwick had handwritten:

_P. S. Happy birthday, and many happy returns of the date!_

Harry looked at another piece of paper, which listed the books he'd need for a seventh year. With a jolt, he realized that at least two out of his four classes would be taught by new teachers. Hogwarts would need yet another Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and if Flitwick was Deputy Headmaster, McGonagall was almost certainly Headmistress. Unless Slughorn had been persuaded to stick around for another year, they'd need a Potions Master as well. Remembering what he'd done the day before, he realized they'd need a Professor of Muggle Studies, too.

Harry hadn't read any farther than _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Seven_ when he heard the unmistakable _cracks_ of two people Apparating into his foyer. He dashed in to find Ron and Hermione, both clutching envelopes identical to the one he had received.

"You get one too?" Ron asked eagerly.

Harry nodded.

"I'm so relieved!" Hermione squealed. "It would have been such a disappointment if we couldn't sit our N.E.W.T.s."

"Yeah, except _not_. Harry and I aren't really all that chuffed, to be honest, and you could have sat them in about third year."

"What about Quidditch?" Hermione asked. "Would you two be eligible for another year?"

"Dunno," Ron admitted. "You captain again?"

Harry rummaged through his envelope. "No note."

"But it might stay in effect-but-" Ron broke off, an odd expression on his face.

"What?"

"Well-with us gone last year, they needed a new team, and a new captain. So she might stay on."

"Ginny?" asked Hermione.

Ron nodded. "To hear her tell it, she's been getting pretty good, but that's her story."

Harry shook his head. "No, she was the best of the Chasers when I had tryouts."

"There's a new Seeker too, and Keeper, I suppose."

"And some new blood to make up for the graduates-Katie was a seventh year, I don't remember the others."

"Blimey, it could be tough getting our spots back."

Harry nodded, his attention turning to Hermione, who had made a quick intake of air. Her mouth was still in an O when Harry addressed her. "What-"

But before he could continue, another owl swooped in, bearing an envelope addressed to Ron. He read in silence, an expression of incredulity growing on his face.

"What is it?" Harry asked when Ron threw it to the floor.

"A notice," he spat, "for Apparating without a license. I have to pay a fine."

"That's outrageous!"

"No," Hermione waved her Hogwarts letter, "it's the law. We're normal people now."

"Hang on," Harry asked dubiously, remembering the Ministry pardon he'd received. "Did fleeing Voldemort count as a war crime?"

"Well, technically…"

Harry would have volunteered to pay the fine if he hadn't been so confident that it would make Ron feel worse. Instead, he commiserated. "Bad luck, mate."

"Looks like they'll just take it out of my salary at the next new moon," Ron shrugged. He was employed in Harry's department at the Ministry.

"How have the two of you been getting to work?" Hermione asked.

"Floo powder, mostly," Harry shrugged. His co-workers had given him a large supply as a welcome present.

"I've flown, sometimes," Ron added off-handedly.

"And the other times?"

"Well, when I go in…I mean, it's not that often."

"What isn't?"

"Me going to work."

"What do you _mean_?"

Harry knew that Hermione could be dangerous in that type of mood. "Think about it," he said, attempting to sound reasonable. "When we go to work, we sit around and do nothing much. When we don't, we do the same thing."

"Who are you calling "we"?"

"Me and Harry," Ron stepped in. "How're things in your department?"

"Well, I make an effort!" she shot back.

Ron would not let up. "At what?"

"Various sorting," she waved dismissively. "Paperwork."

"Hermione, that's not a _job_, that's my detentions with Snape," said Harry.

"You're a regular genius!" Ron added before Harry could reply. "They can't keep you cooped up like that!"

"Yes, they can," she sighed. "I don't have seniority."

"Or your N.E.W.T.s," Harry reasoned slowly.

"Yes!" She gripped her envelope. "Which is why we have to go back, all of us!"

"And if we rather _like_ sitting around and not working?" Ron challenged.

"You'd better like it enough to last fifty years."

"And retirement's the same game, isn't it?" joked Harry.

"Listen," Ron diverted the subject, "it's still July. Too early to think about school-come on back to the Burrow, Harry. Your birthday dinner's probably cooking already."

"Your mum's cooking for me?"

"Better than Kreacher."

So that was why nobody had written: they could Apparate to see him. Harry mentally chastised himself for his stupidity, realizing he still had a lot to learn about the Wizarding world.

"Come on then," Hermione beckoned to the empty spaces on either side of her. "We'll need Side-Along Apparition if you two don't want to get fined again."

"Hold on, let me tell Kreacher, he'll worry about me." Harry dashed back into the kitchen. "Kreacher? I'm going over to the Burrow, so take the day off."

"Understood, Master Harry!"

Harry rolled his eyes as he joined his friends. With the characteristic sensation, they were off.


	3. The Good Knife

_Author's note: reuploaded with a slight edit thanks to Ash's helpful review_

Chapter Three

The Good Knife

The Burrow rose comfortingly into Harry's vision as he landed and got his bearings. It was the same house he'd known for six warm years: a place that could be relied upon.

Ron jogged up to the house while Hermione paused to catch her breath. "You okay?" asked Harry.

"Yeah," she panted, walking slowly. "Yeah, takes more effort to bring two of you along with me."

"We can make two trips."

"Remind me next time," she weakly smiled. "Until you two take your tests."

Ron knocked at the door. It was immediately opened, and Ginny dashed out to where Harry was standing. "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks," he smiled awkwardly.

Restraining herself somewhat, she immediately turned around, gallivanting back forward. "How've you been?"

He shrugged. "Well as I can ask for."

"Oy, Ginny." Ron greeted them as they entered. "You Captain this year?"

"Didn't get a letter. Does it continue on from last year?"

"We're trying to find out."

Hermione finally made it to the doorway. "Hi, Ginny."

Mrs. Weasley turned from her post in the kitchen. "Happy birthday, Harry, dear." Flour on her hands, she rushed to embrace him. Knowing he could not resist, he smiled as she did so and then returned to her furious kneading.

"Harry?" Ginny asked. "You have a minute?"

"Yeah," he answered instinctively, then roguishly added, "Is this going to be a repeat of my _last_ birthday?"

"Would you like it to be?" she asked sweetly.

He instinctively tensed up. "I…well…those were different circumstances."

"What's this now?" Ron teased.

"None of your business," Ginny smirked. "Here, Harry, I chipped in for the present from all the family. So don't expect anything from just me."

"I didn't," he said truthfully, a bit more at ease.

"Well, I just wanted to remind you-if there was any question-"

"Ginny," Harry interrupted, "when I was-" He turned to Ron. "How much did you tell her? About what I told you and Hermione on the way up to Dumbledore's office?"

"Nothing, mate," Ron replied fervently. "That's your business."

So Harry recounted the story: how he had witnessed the murder of Severus Snape, delved into the spy's memories, learned that he was an accidental Horcrux, and surrendered to Voldemort. He glossed over his encounter with Dumbledore as much as possible, focusing on the information he'd learned: that the Killing Curse had only destroyed a fragment of Voldemort's soul, and that he could return. As nonchalantly as possible, he finished, "So then Voldemort made Hagrid bring me out, and, well, you saw the rest." Ginny was wide-eyed, gaping silently. "Anyhow, the point is, when I was standing there waiting, I thought of you. And kissing you." Realizing she might need time to "recover from" his account, he diverted the subject, turning to Ron and Hermione. "How're you two?"

"Fine," Ron shrugged. "We haven't had a chance to…do too much, what with us alternatively working and not working at the Ministry. And Hermione popping down to Australia-did she take me? No."

"How was I supposed to know you _wanted_ to go?" Hermione shot back.

"Who wouldn't want to go to Australia?"

"Well, it's not as exciting as Egypt."

"All right, well, I'll stick to Albania next time," Ron said dryly.

"Besides, I was afraid there'd be a lot of bureaucracy to go through, but Kingsley was great about it."

Harry took advantage of the lull in the conversation to glimpse over at Ginny. She was stone-faced but determined. "So?" he asked, trying to sound humorous without demeaning. "No questions from me. I'm not Rita Skeeter."

"How's she doing?" Ron asked.

Hermione shrugged. "Same as she's been: tamer than before. Probably still looking for another angle."

"She's got enough angles to make a whole…what's it called, that spiky Arithmancy thing."

"It's a mystic rose, Ron."

Ginny smiled weakly. "I'm fine."

"How's your summer been?" he asked, in an effort to make conversation.

"Good," she nodded. "Yours?"

He shrugged. "Can't say the same, really. Don't you go to the same funerals I did?"

"Yeah."

"So what's been so good about your summer?"

"Everything!" she smiled with what Harry felt was annoying exuberance. "We're alive, isn't that enough?"

"Yeah, c'mon mate, you should know," Ron teased.

"Give it a rest," Harry shot back.

The Weasleys and Hermione looked nervously between each other. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he nodded vigorously. "Just…it's still difficult to understand."

Ginny tilted her head downwards, sympathetically. "Anyhow, I'm really glad you've come."

"Thanks. Me too."

"Where's the good knife?" Mrs. Weasley hollered from the kitchen.

"Dad was using it," Ron called back, equally loud. "I'm not sure I want to know," he added under his breath.

"Can I help you look for it?" Hermione volunteered.

"Yes, if you wouldn't mind: I'd try a summoning charm, but who knows what it'd hit coming through."

Hermione rose to her feet, and Ron and Ginny followed. Harry trailed them, picking up the nearest pillow, but Mrs. Weasley interrupted when she saw him. "Don't be silly, Harry, dear; you're the honored guest."

"What am I supposed to do?" He tried to sound casual and friendly, but the question had plagued him indefinitely. "I can't spend the rest of my life letting other people do stuff for me."

"You could, actually," Ron muttered.

"But I don't _want_ to."

"Oh, go ahead," she said breezily. "Whatever'll make you feel comfortable."

He laughed: if only the rest of the world could be as acquiescent.

"Say, Hermione," he said as they exited towards the garage, "aren't you a guest too?"

"I suppose. But I've been spending a lot of time over here, so I barely think of myself as one. It'll be time for me to get my own place pretty soon, but Mum and Dad want me to live with them for another year. They're not used to how early we leave school."

"Even though you're already eighteen?"

She laughed. "Any excuse they can get."

The garage was still full of Mr. Weasley's half-finished ideas. Within fifteen minutes, they had found three likely implements, though Hermione pointed out that one was too dusty to have only recently been lost. Satisfied, they returned only to learn that Ginny had found the "good" blade wedged halfway into the ceiling.

"Why do you need a knife, anyhow?" Ron called from the couch.

"Speak up, Ronald, I can't hear you when your mouth's in the pillow," Mrs. Weasley replied.

Groaning, he flopped over. "What do you need a knife for that you can't do with magic?"

"Oh, sometimes you just need to get right _into_ the food, you know?" she replied pleasantly. "Really _feel_ it."

"No, I don't know," he replied.

"You're lucky you've never had to cook for yourself. As soon as you move out, you'll be in trouble."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. To Harry he explained, "Half the time Mum's nagging at me to find a place of my own, and the other half she's panicking that I'll leave."

Harry laughed. "There's plenty of rooms at Grimmauld Place."

"You serious? I might take you up on that."

"I've lived with you for seven years, it's still weird getting used to being alone."

"How's Kreacher?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"Oh, he's fine. Keeps to himself mostly though. Ron, how's your ghoul?"

"Excellent. He's back in the attic now, but he'll pop down more often than he used to. Of course, I haven't gotten used to him being around so often, so it'll come as a shock to see him up and about. Want to go visit?"

"Sure!"

They climbed the stairs up to the landing, where Ron magicked open the hatch that led to the attic. "Climb on up."

There was barely enough room for the three of them. The ghoul, who smelled a bit less rancid than Harry remembered, was drumming on a pipe.

"Hullo," Ron spoke slowly. "This is my mate Harry."

"Gluuh!"

"Nice to meet you too," Harry said awkwardly.

"Pleasant enough chap once you get to know him," Ron summarized.

They descended quickly, Ron nearly treading on Hermione's fingers, and back into the Burrow, as the smell of Mrs. Weasley's cooking rose to greet them.


	4. Past and Presents

Chapter Four  
Past and Presents

Pleasantly full and a bit tired, Harry leaned back on a couch in the living room. Ginny and Ron were seated on its edges, while Hermione perched precariously on an arm.

"This one's from me," she said, tilting to handing it over and stumbling off.

"Thanks," Harry smiled even before he opened it.

Like so many of Hermione's presents, it was merely paper: but in contrast to her normal books, the first sheets fluttered and sailed around the room. One folded itself into a paper airplane that whizzed past Ginny. The others rustled softly in his lap.

"Erm…" said Ron.

"Daily Prophet," said Hermione brightly. "Back issues, these are about the battle. And the stuff we missed when we were gone."

"Most of it's just propaganda," Ron said dubiously, digging through to the bottom of the pile. "Right?"

"Well, there are some Quibblers too. Luna sent you this, by the way…" Hermione reached for a small, delicately wrapped package.

Harry slowly unraveled the ribbon around it. It was a thin tube of metal about as long as one of his fingers. He tapped it gently. A distinct _ping_ reverberated throughout the room.

"It's a Melodica," Ginny explained. "Blow into it."

Slightly embarrassed, Harry blew into one of the hollow ends. Immediately, a slow, ponderous chord sounded.

"It changes depending on your mood," she elaborated.

"Cool," he smiled.

"This is from Neville," said Ginny, passing up a rather lumpier parcel.

"How did you lot wind up with this anyway?" Harry said teasingly. "Seeing as it's _my_ birthday?"

"We've been setting it up for a while," Mrs. Weasley shrugged sincerely.

"Not complaining." He started to open the present. "Hang on, there's a card…"

An animated owl flew across the front of the card, which proclaimed "Happy birdday!". Harry flinched, remembering Hedwig.

"About that, mate-" Ron started, but Hermione shushed him.

Harry opened the card. _Dear Harry_, it read. _I know this should have come on maybe your eighth birthday, but you've seemed so glum at the funerals. Hope you take it the right way, and have a good year._

Curious, Harry propped the package-but its contents were already escaping. "Aah!" Ginny screamed, batting at something that leapt from her head.

Ron guffawed as he caught it. "You're scared of a Chocolate Frog?"

"When amphibians are leaping on me," Ginny said primly, "yes, I rather am."

Still laughing, Ron flipped the Frog to Harry. "Keep the card," Harry told him.

"Excellent, new release-blimey!" Ron laughed even harder-Hermione slid off the couch for safety. "have a look."

Harry blushed at himself from the card. Holding it by the edge, with two fingers, as if it could explode at any moment, Harry flipped it over to read the back. "The Boy Who Lived; thwarted the Dark Lord's rise to power as an infant and defeated him upon his revival. Harry was an accomplished Seeker at Hogwarts School."

Once able to speak, Harry blurted, "The Dark Lord?"

"Well, you did kill him," Hermione said patiently.

"But why do they still call him that?"

"No point in calling him You-Know-Who now that he's dead, is there?" Ron pointed out. "What's he gonna do to you?"

At once a fear gripped Harry. "Is he really dead?"

The Weasleys and Hermione looked about at each other, unsure whether this was an onset of paranoia.

"I mean," Harry pressed on, "he wanted to live forever. Couldn't he come back as a ghost?"

"What could a ghost do, though?" Ginny strove to be reasonable.

"Spread his message-gather an army-"

"He can't," said Hermione authoritatively. "You can't come back if you did-what he did." At a questioning look, she added, "I'll bring my book."

Harry nodded. "Even so. If he is gone, why would they respect him? "Lord"…it's a title, it's what Death Eaters called him."

"Old habits die hard," Ron shrugged.

Unsatisfied, Harry ate the frog. And as he did so, he knew Voldemort was really dead. It was melty and gooey, the chocolate, not a cold weapon against the Dementors. The threat was gone, and he was complacently lying on his friends' couch, eating chocolate.

Eighteen years old and he'd already saved the world. There was nowhere to _go_.

"This one's from all of us." Mr. Weasley nodded at a large package on the floor.

Harry bent down to pick it up, but found it much heavier than he'd expected. Slowly, he ripped off the wrapping right there, gasping when he saw his gift. "Are these really expensive?"

"Nah," Mr. Weasley blushed. "Just not a lot of trade in them."

It was a Pensieve: perfect circle hewn from stone, filled with what looked like clear water. Harry touched it, but found only shimmering light.

"Thanks," he said when he could think of nothing else to say. "This is…amazing."

"So're you," Ginny smiled.

He turned to her, delight retracing the unfamiliar crevices of his face, but whatever he had to say was forgotten. The evening had worn on, after all, and some of them had lives to which they needed to return.

"I'll drop you off," Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry when they headed for the door, his presents balanced precariously. (Ron's attempt at using _Wingardium Leviosa_ to carry the Pensieve had failed rather drastically. Hermione was still limping as they reached the door, but the swelling had died down.)

"Let's not wait this long before we see each other again, okay? I mean not at a funeral."

"Let's take our Apparition tests together!" Ron suggested brightly.

"Now hang on," said Harry, fear gripping him again. "The Ministry clearly knows when we Apparate illegally, right? Or they couldn't have sent us those fines."

"Right."

"So why didn't we get busted last year? The Death Eaters were in charge."

Hermione shrugged. "Friends on the inside?"

"For about a day, maybe. Voldemort's a Legilimens!"

"Sure," said Ron, "but he's not exactly going to be probing the Apparition department, right? Pretty low on the totem pole."

"You can ask when you show up," Hermione reminded them.

"Right," Harry nodded, unconvinced.

He stepped next to Hermione and they immediately vanished, reappearing on the doorstep of Number Twelve. "Need me to get the door?"

"Yes, please-er, I've got the key."

"Here, I'll take this."

Nodding slightly, Harry let Hermione lift the Pensieve-"oof!" and fished in his back pocket for the key, opening the door. He set down the other gifts and took it back from her, setting it down immediately. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she replied cheerfully. "Happy birthday, Harry."

"Thanks."

He brought the smaller gifts upstairs to his room, then made a return trip for the Pensieve. Deliberately, he raised his wand to his head and pulled it back. The tip seemed electric, with eighteen years of thoughts compressed into the shimmering threads of light. The wand seemed to move with a life of its own as he lowered it into the basin. Immediately it went still, but the once-clear liquid smoked over. Images rose and fell: Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets, King's Cross Station, the Dursleys, Fawkes, Ron and Hermione arguing, an inhuman figure in a cauldron, a flying motorcycle, a tattered veil.

He felt no more relaxed than he had before he put them in: the memories were still his, after all. And despite the chance to enjoy time with his friends, it had not necessarily been a pleasant day.

The war was over; the struggle continued.


	5. The Test

Chapter Five

The Test

It took longer than Ron wanted to schedule their Apparition test. Between "responsibilities" in the office and the laborious process of rebuilding an underground world, the young men could not meet until August's sweltering heat bore down across the country.

_The dog days_, Harry thought, remembering Sirius. His griefs had mingled together, and the dull sensations lingered forever in the back of his mind. They rose to the surface only when nothing else occupied him, but for the most part, he was content with one trivialty after the next.

That contentment, however, was merely the absence of anguish-not true happiness. Irritation buzzed around the outskirts of his mind like a Billywig: he couldn't pin it down, but he couldn't fully relax.

It was all cast aside, however, at the sight of Ron's eager face. "You ready?" he jitterly asked.

"Yeah." Harry curtly nodded his head, as if to expend the minimum effort. Sweat coated his dark hair as they arrived in a fireplace in the atrium of the Ministry.

"Oh-"

Gasping, Ron pointed to the center of the hall. Once, a patronizing fountain had extolled wizards above all magical beings. But it was gone: instead, flowers surrounded a plain pool. Harry approached to read a small sign.

_Proceeds from this fountain will benefit the families of those killed in the War._

It had no name, he reflected, merely the all-imposing capital W.

He stared for a moment and eventually followed Ron as they checked their wands and ascended to Level Six.

"This way," Ron said, the memory of his last visit all too clear on his face. "It's mad how far they tuck it in, guess you don't need much room, but it always seems a sick joke. I bet they Apparate to work in the morning."

Harry followed until they arrived at the small testing room, and finally cracked a smile when he saw that their instructor, Wilkie Twycross, was not on duty. Instead, a young witch named Phyllis gaped slightly, the same way wizards and witches Harry didn't know had done when they'd met in the Muggle world, long before he came to Hogwarts. "Harry…Potter? And Ron Weasley?" She resumed her professional air long enough to mark something down on her desk. "Right. Who's going first?"

"Me," Ron said immediately. "Er, if you don't mind, Harry?"

"Nah," he shrugged.

"It's just, if you go first, and you pass, there's gonna be even more pressure on me. I don't want to fail it _twice_."

Phyllis opened up a file cabinet and paged through. "Mr. Weasley?"

"Yeah?"

"Come with me for a moment." She pulled a folder out and kicked the door shut: it bounced back open. Rolling her eyes, she stepped out into the lobby, beckoning Ron with her hand.

He turned to Harry and shrugged. "Go ahead," Harry shrugged in return.

Dubiously, Ron followed Phyllis, who shut the door behind them, out.

Harry leaned against a wall, first calm, then increasingly agitated. He could have been at work, he told himself, doing something productive…Only the bitter knowledge that he would not, in fact, have done anything productive kept him there.

With no warning, Phyllis Apparated in. "Ah! Mr. Potter. Where would you like to go?"

"Where's Ron?" Harry demanded immediately.

"He is at his home."

"What happened? How did he get there?"

"He Apparated."

"What? So, he passed?"

"Yes."

"That's excellent!" Harry broke into a genuine grin.

"Indeed. So. Where would you like to go?"

"Uh…What do you mean?"

"For your test. The tester can choose the destination-as appropriate, not halfway across the office."

"I guess I'll go to the Burrow, too, congratulate him."

"Certainly. I will be following along, though as this is not strictly Side-Along Apparition, you do not need to include me in your spell. You may depart when ready."

It seemed suspiciously easy. Then again, all he'd had to do to get Sorted was put on a hat-none of the dragon-battling he'd heard so much about. Concentrating, but not overly, he saw the Burrow in his mind. Then, merely seconds later, it emerged in front of him.

Phyllis followed close behind, then walked in a small circle around him, staring at him coldly. "Stay still," she ordered, Disapparating.

A bit confused, Harry complied, but then realized she had to be checking to see if he'd Splinched himself.

In less than a minute, she had returned. "Splendid job! I'll file you immediately, and you are officially licensed to Apparate. Congratulations!"

And just as quickly, she was gone again.

Cautiously, Harry stepped towards the house, opening the door. "Hello?"

"Hey!" Ron bounded forward. "You passed, then? 'Course you did?"

"And you?" Harry cut him off immediately. "Congratulations!"

Ron blushed proudly.

"What happened when you left the office?"

Ron laughed. "Well, she told me that when we were Apparating all over the place looking for Horcruxes, she was the one that saw all the rogue Apparitions."

"So they _did_ know! But-"

"But she didn't look into it. She was on our side, just working at the Ministry."

Harry gaped.

"So she knew I already knew how to Apparate, and told me, so…I dunno, I guess it just calmed my nerves enough."

"Whatever works, mate. Well done."

"Hang out here for a while? Mum's baking."

Harry didn't need to force a smile. "I'd love to, but I should probably get to work. I can actually go now," he laughed.

"So can I," Ron shrugged. "Sit down awhile." Noting Harry's ambivalence, he continued, "Ginny's around."

The late afternoon was torridly hot, and Harry squinted towards the oppressive sun. Ginny whizzed towards them, taking one hand from her broom as she waved to them. "She's getting really fast," Ron commented, "always wants to practice."

"And you don't?"

"I don't wanna get shown up."

Ginny made a graceful landing on the grass next to them. "Take it you passed, then?" she said briskly.

Harry shrugged, his efforts at modesty only half-hearted when she was in the vicinity. "Yep."

"Good job."

"Thanks," he said stiffly.

They regarded each other uneasily. "I love you," she finally said matter-of-factly. "You know that."

"Yeah," he smiled, "It's been hard to miss."

She gazed critically at him, clearly desiring to say more, as Ron slowly stepped away. "When you're ready to talk, let me know?"

"Whaddaya mean? I'm talking right now, aren't I?"

"You're still grieving. Just…let me know."

She propelled herself up into the air, accelerating as she flew off into the blaze.


End file.
